


Can't Say It Wasn't Real

by age_of_avenging_mockingjays



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Post 5A fix-it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/age_of_avenging_mockingjays/pseuds/age_of_avenging_mockingjays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth Greene is still here, but she's come undone. After her experiences at the hospital, scars have stayed, outside and in. Now, she must find balance between old, sweet Beth, and the skin of steel she has gained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Felt Too Real

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in months. I've never even written here, and I have a big problem with writing fanfiction; I've always thought I couldn't do it. So, I've resigned myself to enjoying some very good Bethyl fics out there. 
> 
> After the mid season finale, though, it wasn't enough anymore. And I've been convinced from the beggining that I couldn't write Daryl Dixon, couldn't write Beth, never would get them right. But I'm actually pretty proud of myself and what I've written. And I feel like I've surpassed that fear of trying to write them.  
> So here we are, me dealing with my grief the last way I thought I would, and I hope I can help some of you out there who are going through the same thing.
> 
> This is a fix-it fic. I am not really accepting the episode's cannon - I am using it though, but as a fan I'm given liberties in what I write and I'll take them with open arms. 
> 
> Right now, i'm treating this one as a one-shot, but depending on other ideas, or the general reception, I might try writing more. No promises though, because I am fucking terrible with deadlines and promises.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters.

 

* * *

 

  It’s not really anger so much as instinct that makes him pull the trigger on the cop. It’s an automatic response to a threat - action; reaction. When he shoots her, it’s almost like he’s not there - he’s watching it all from above, away from his own body, unable to move his muscles.

  It’s when he looks down, sees the river of blood flowing, the hand with the cast laying limp on the ground, that it really hits him. And it’s the pretty sunshine-yellow hair, half wrecked, covered in gore that kills him.

* * *

 

Daryl wakes with a start, breathing erratically, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, making his dirty hair stick to his skin. He’s out of breath, his throat is dry, and for a moment he feels like it’ll close shut and that’s what will finally kill him.

  He sits up, clenching around himself, holding his arms to his knees like a child, trying to calm his beating heart, and it sort of works until he sees the sillhouette of someone holding a rifle, walking back and forth, and then the two sleeping figures on the ground next to them. And his heart picks up again, just a little.

  He gets up and walks towards the sleeping figures, always silent, not wanting anyone to get in his way. He stops, though, a ways away from them, and just stands there, his body stuck between wanting to move further and wanting to back away, and watches Beth’s form rise and fall softly, a little bit of the crown of her hair illuminated by moonlight, and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding at seeing those locks unmarred of blood, unbroken, so clean and perfect. And suddently, he feels out of place, feels he’s gazed too long, like a goddamned creep, looking at her when she can’t tell him to stop. And, for a moment, he remembers a time in a kitchen in a funeral house.

  So he does what he always does: he goes out into the woods, away from warmth, from his family, from that little strong thing.

  Fingers reach into the inside of his jacket, pulling out the pack he got from that kid, Noah, and bites into a cigarrette; as he puts the pack back inside the pocket he pulls out a Zippo he got ages ago from a geek and, somehow, it still works. He spends the next few moments sucking on the cigarrette, watching the small light that ignites whenever he draws it in, the only warm light in the darkness of those woods, until he hears a crack somewhere beside him, and he tenses a bit, until he recognizes the sound came from the direction of the camp, and then there is Beth, standing with arms crossed, and what he thinks is a look of disgust on her face. She’s so close to him, too close, not close enough.

  “Y’know, those things will kill ‘ya.” She says, but with no malice, and with a touch of a smile in those words.

  The corners of his lips turn up but he can’t help but feel a little bit ashamed at his lit cigarrette, so he moves to drop it on the ground and putting it out with his boot but she cuts him off “Leave it. ‘Ah guess you need it.”

  She sits down right next to him, so close their elbows touch, and he tenses at the proximity and looks ahead, at the cigarrette, anywhere but at her face, but he still feels her eyes on him, silently studying him. Ain’t long, though, before she speaks again “You had a bad dream?”

  He can’t look at her, can’t bare to, knows he’ll only see her lifeless face, her bloodied hair “Some’n like that.”

  It wasn’t a goddamned bad dream. It was hell. It was something fierce, that he can’t put words to, cuz’ that’ll just make it worse.

  But she doesn’t wanna leave it at that; he still feels her gaze on him, staring him down, wanting to tire the words out of him. So he sighs, cuz’ really, what else can he do, but tell her what she wants to hear, spill all his secrets to her, let her carve the demons out of him with her sweet words and big eyes?

  “You was dead” he begins, voice hoarse and rough “ that cop, the leader, shot you right in the head. You went for her first, wanted to take her out. Everythin’ else before played out the same.“ He feels drained by the end, like all his energy was spent spilling out those words. Even the cigarrette doesn’t taste good anymore, so without care he lets it fall on the floor and rubs his boot over it. He looks at the floor, and when he looks back up there is Beth, crouching over him, hands on his knees for support, looking into his eyes in the dim light. And he’s never seen them bluer.

“I’m still here, Daryl. You’re here too. We’re all together and we’re alrigh’, that’s all you gotta think about.”

“You almost weren’.” He counters, voice breaking away at that last word “Ya’re alrigh’, but ya coulda been hurt...I don’t even know what they done to ‘ya in there...’f I hadn’t been so stupid, opened that damn door...”

“Hey” She starts, voice stern all of a sudden “That, back there, wasn’t your fault. None of it was. Ya have to know that. That’s what ‘ah know.”

He feels Beth’s right hand twitch on his knee, fingers lifting just a touch, like she's pondring something, and her whole arm tenses before she lifts it to his face, and her soft hand touches his cheek, fingers splaying on the rough beard over his skin, and it’s that touch, so innocent, so sweet, and so _Beth_ , that does him in. And, in a flash, he’s reaching out for her, hands greedy with the need to touch her, hold her, and he pulls her tightly to him, buries his fingers in her back, his head in her shoulder, his nose in her hair, and just sobs. Sobs all he’s been having to sob since that car with the stupid cross took her away, since he got a glimpse that she might still be alive, since he saw her in that hallway, looking small between all those other men.

He’d hugged her in the immediate aftermath of it, holding her tight too, but that was different. Then, he just wanted to feel her alive in his arms. This, now, is him breaking like a child in their mother’s embrace. This is him, in his most fragile and broken, but maybe this is what he needs to be whole again.

And Beth knows it too, when she whispers to his ear “We’re gonna be alright now.”

And he can’t help believe her.


	2. What you know can't hurt you

  Maggie hovers over her a lot; Daryl tries to keep as much distance as he possibly can.

  The latter catches her a bit off-guard; they’d been separated a while, yes, but not that long. A week and a half, at most - maybe not even that. But that proximity they’d shared when they were alone together, that companionship, seems to her it’s been deliberately hidden away by Daryl. The only time he’d ever let it through was when he’d hugged her after the prisoner exchange; and since then, he’s been away, as far away from her as possible, as close to Rick and Michonne and Carol as he could, and she doesn’t understand why it seems he’s forgotten their time together. Was he embarrassed about it?

  The former isn’t surprising at all; Maggie is Beth’s big sister. What Beth doesn’t get, however, is the numb look in her eyes whenever they cross each other - it’s not that easy to spot, because Maggie spends most of the time trying to chat her up, hoping to get out of her as much as she can of what Beth’s gone through since the prison went up in flames. But Beth is relentless, and really doesn’t want to talk about it...

  Doesn’t want to talk about the time she spent surviving and _living_ with Daryl, because that time belongs to them and only them.

  Doesn’t want to talk about the hospital, not right now, not yet.

  But Beth finds getting things out of her sister isn’t easy either - she tries to divert attention from her own sorrows by asking Maggie whatever she can, but Maggie is just as stubborn as her - but perhaps not stubborn, but afraid; because every time any of it comes up, that same numb look reaches her face, and Maggie stops talking, so Beth stops talking, too, and then everything just turns _sad._

  And maybe Beth knows why.

  When they met outside the hospital, when Maggie ran to her, all but screaming her name, tears threatening to spill out, when she hugged Beth fierce to her, she was actually shocked to hear her sobbing words: “I’m sorry. My God, Bethy, ‘Ah’m so sorry! ‘Ah didn’ mean to, please!”

  Beth didn’t really understand what her sister meant then. Sorry for what? For not bein’ with her after the prison? For not findin’ her, when she wasn’t that easy to be found? Why was that her fault?

  But Maggie’s sobs had broken any train of thought, so Beth just held her back, fierce too, finally reunited with her blood family, with the only one left, and she didn’t sob back. And, even though she didn’t understand it, she said “It’s okay.”

  But now maybe she gets it, when she can see Maggie’s eyes, clean of tears, clean of happiness: Maggie gave up hope on her. Maggie didn’t go looking for her at all.

  “Bethy, ‘ah screwed up” and Maggie is finally looking at her, finally focusing those numb eyes on her sisters’: “I think it was easier, not to believe. Just forget. When ‘ah shouln’ have. ‘Ah should’ve had faith in you. I screwed up...”

  Beth looks down to her hands on her lap, sitting on a log they’d put near the fire. And she should be mad, really; why didn’t her sister believe in her; why did she give up? But Beth was weak before, defenseless.

  And when Beth looks back into her sister’s eyes, into those green depths filled with guilt and sorrow, she sees her father’s head hit with the swing of a sword, dropping to the side. And she can’t ever be angry with her sister, not when they’ve been through so much, met so much pain and loss; not when all they have now is each other and only the memory of her family.

  So Beth smiles up at her; not a good happy smile, but an understanding one, a smile that speaks a thousand times more than any string of words could - and holds her sister again, this time calm and soft, and she can almost feel a little of Maggie’s pain fade away with the hug, and this is the beginning of fixing things. And that night, Maggie still chooses her over anyone else, over Glenn, and sleeps with her near the dying fire, sharing a blanket, like they’re little kids all over again, sharing secrets late at night, keeping one another’s demons away.

  And later, when she holds Daryl too, finally understanding, even if only a bit, why he’d been so guarded from her, why he’d been away; when she lets him sob into her form, she finally realizes what she is in this world. Not a babysitter for Judith, and not a fighter or defender. She’s a healer. And she realizes maybe these people needed her more than she ever needed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: Noah is not dead, nor is he back at the hospital. Rick's group would never leave him behind. And, most importantly, neither would Beth. I will get to Noah, and the rest of the group will make appearances too, in the following chapters.
> 
> So, yeah, chapter two. This is, like, a revolution for me, because I am horrible with wiriting things on time, or writing then sooner than I should - I'm a procrastinator of the worst kind. I am on a high right now from that stupid episode, and I intend to ride it to its full extent. Hope it takes too long for it to go down.
> 
> I've found writing Maggie Greene is not easy at all - and this chapter is mostly introspection, as you can see, and that is a direct result of my innability to perform dialogue well. So, I end up leaving most of the work to the way Beth thinks. i try to improve greatly on that, because I myself enjoy much more thoroughly reading lines and dialogue rather than a character's thoughts - it's a much better way to convey emotions. But I was thinking of it as I was writing, and I honestly don't think cannon Beth and Daryl and Maggie would talk too much about such a devastating time; if Beth were still...alive, she would confort them with gestures a lot, too. So I went with gestures here.
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter and, if you did, let me know! Tell me, too, if you find any OOC'ness, or grammar errors, because I both don't really master these characters, and I Beta my own works, so things are bound to get away.


	3. Like This Again

 

  Early on next morning, Beth is woken up by a soft touch to her shoulder; she turns around and there is Daryl, half-crouching, half-standing over her.

  It’s like he’s a little awkward to be there, a little embarrassed, but his shoulders aren’t tense, she notes.

  She rubs the sleep out of her eyes as he crouches closer to her and whispers “Gunna go get us some’n to eat. Wanna come with?”

  She lets a big smile play on her face and gets up from under the bundle of blankets, gently, so she won’t wake Maggie up. Checking for the knife hidden in her boot - that one Rick gave her when they left the hospital - she walks towards Daryl and falls into step with him, something she finds she’s sorely missed.

  They walk at a leisurely pace, in no rush to go anywhere; they cross to the other side of the dirty river bank, away from camp, from the road that leads there, and deeper into the woods, but Beth’s training hasn’t failed her “We need to go upstream. No animal’s gonna be drinkin’ this water. Maybe it’s cleaner up ahead.”

  “Good call” Daryl smirks at her.

  Beth can’t help but smirk back “But you already figured that.”

  “Hm.”

  It was a simple assumption, but Beth feels proud of herself all the same; and it’s not just Daryl’s smirk that makes her feel so.

  So they do as agreed; move up ahead, away from the dirty water, and they walk a fair amount until they find something that’ll actually help them. But, at last, the stream runs cleaner, and Daryl crouches on the ground, to check that his crossbow’s ready to shoot.

  And promptly hands it to her.

  Beth looks at the crossbow, a little more than dumbfounded, and then back at him, and his eyes are torn between looking at her and looking any other way.

  “C’mon, you were learnin’. Don’you wanna keep doin’ it?”

  And Beth outright _grins_ “Oh yes ah’ do.”, and takes the crossbow with eager hands, careful to put as little weight as she can on her cast hand, and she sort of missed that familiar weight that makes the forming muscles of her arms tense.

  And from then on, everything feels so familiar; her careful steps on the ground, the feel of him behind her as she looks ahead of him, crossbow at the ready, looking for any clues that an animal has gone through there. She can practically smell the same things, feel the sun beating down on her the same way, and it’s so...peaceful, in a weird way, just Daryl and her doing their thing, like they’ve never been apart.

  She almost thanks whatever wishing star shone down upon her - only yesterday had she pondered on this very moment; and now she gets to _live_ it.

  She’s brought down back into the Earth when she spots a tiny little trail on the ground; it goes this way and that and then straight forward like a bullet and it ends by a couple trees.

  “It’s a squirrel.” She guesses out loud, not looking away from her stand with the crossbow at her line of sight, waiting for whatever grunt he’ll answer with .

  “Can ya fin’ it?

  Beth hesitates - because really, in their lessons they never _actually_ covered squirrel hunting, and they’re such tiny little creatures, and their family is depending on this hunt, so, very silently, she lowers the crossbow and moves it a little to the side, giving Daryl room to reach out and take it from her hands. He doesn’t, though, and she wonders if he’s disappointed in her self-doubt.

  “You take this one.” She says, filling the silence, and he finally takes the crossbow from her.

  And as he points it to a tree up ahead he says “Y’ can do it next time” and walks forward on hunter-mode, not letting anything disturb him.

  But he _believes_ in her, believes she can do it, even if she doesn’t yet, and maybe _that’s_ what she’s missed the most about their time together .

  As they walk back to camp, one rabbit and one squirrel strapped to his belt, she finds it odd how he didn’t really try to bring them any more. Theirs is a big group after all. And then it hits her. “Ya didn’ have to go huntin’; Carl set up all those traps, he’da got more than enough.”

  And when all he answer with is an elusive “Guess so”, and a shrug, she can’t help but smirk and bump her shoulder to his arm playfully. He sways a bit to the side in mock-hurt, and then bumps her shoulder back, and that one gesture means more to her than a hundred words could.

 

* * *

 

  Later that morning, as they all sit together by the fire, Judith happy as can be in her lap, they decide to head to Washington, DC.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, something not gloomy! 
> 
> I promise you all, from this chapter on, things will get brighter - or as bright as The Walking Dead can get - but definitely more fun to read! Beth still has demons, no doubt, and I will get to them, I won't forget it, but I'm glad that stuff with Maggie is past us and we can move on to more develpment.
> 
> I love writing Bethyl, and I'm really liking what I'm thining of doing for them - it's the little things, little gestures, movements, that'll give their development away. That and, of course, dialogue.
> 
> One thing I included just at the end, though I wish I couldn't gone to sooner, was Judith. That little girl is so important to Beth, and I was thinking of putting a little interaction between them this chapter, but there is a method to this fic - I'm not exactly treating it as a multi-chapter story, but also as a collection of one-shots - though connected as they are. So, each chapter must have a theme to it, instead of jumbling things up and putting them all together in a blender. So yes, there will be more Judith.
> 
> Tell me what you thought of this chapter; what you liked, what you think could have gone better. I am so happy with all the feedback I've gotten, it's amazing! I love you all!


	4. What We Feel

  In the following days after Beth and Daryl escaped the flaming prison together, whenever there was relative peace, whenever she could think, she thought of little Luke, Lizzie and Mika...

  She thought of Judith, the little girl she’d gone back for and couldn’t find.

  But she wouldn’t cry. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry anymore for the people she lost.

  At the time, she’d mistaken tears for weakness. She didn’t understand, not yet.

  But that wall just came crashing the minute she had her sight on baby Judith, just outside the hospital. She’d ran weakly, wobbly, like her strength had failed; yet, when she got to put her arms around little Judy, that weakness was gone. She held her like she was Beth’s lifeline. And she might have just cried all the water out of her.

  She spent a long time away from the baby girl; in between that time, several people from their group had bonded with her. So, now she takes turns holding and caring for Judith - other times, she belongs to Rick, or Tyreese, or Carol or Carl. But just the fact that she’s alive is so precious she doesn’t mind sharing her with the others at all.

  She’s sitting with Judith at the make-shift camp they’ve set up somewhere in the outskirts of Atlanta, someplace Glenn had suggested; near a dirty river that actually has fish and is pretty well-guarded from view. On the ride back to this place, she remembers him talking animatedly with a Hispanic girl with a cap, and another one who _she thinks she’s seen somewhere before_ , and then the girl had pulled out the last thing Beth would have ever thought to see again in the Apocalypse, a Yo-yo of all things, and they just _laughed_ , but it was such a carefree laugh Beth couldn’t help but smile at the trio.

  Everyone’s doing their thing right now; Rick a little away from camp with Daryl - who won’t look at her, and she still doesn’t know why - talking with Glenn and a buff man with red-hair about something she obviously can’t hear. Maggie is right beside her, as she’s been persistent not to leave her side at any time. Tyreese and Sasha are on the other side, facing Beth, tending to Carol - thought there really is nothing else to do, she seems fine - and Michonne is out with another new addition, a _priest_ from his garbs, and she’s still wrapping her head around the fact that a priest has made it in this world with his clothes clean and perfect. And Carl seems to be having a good time with Noah, so she smiles and leaves them be.

  So she sits here with little Judy, and she touches her soft downy hair, smells her baby scent, and is content with just hearing her happy gurgling - she’s always seemed to sense the group’s general happiness; never been a fussy baby, rarely ever cried. And she’s like that now, tiny little hands playing with a toy, blue eyes so deeply concentrated on them.

  She’s just as beautiful as Beth remembered her, and she’s a little saddened as she notes she’s missed things Judy has learned to do, as all babies are bound to; at her age, she should be able to say one or two words, but she’s making more distinct sounds and Beth thinks she’s almost there. Beth wishes she had a book to read to her, and more time and a safe place to teach her to speak.

  They’ll have time for it now; their family is back together, a little bit closer to being whole. They’ll manage.

  Beth runs a hand through the baby’s soft hair and sighs; Judith gurgles and Beth laughs softly, placing a kiss to her chubby cheek, and moves her hands to hold her at her little belly.

  “You look like her mama.” Maggie states beside her. Beth looks at her sister and there’s a gleam in her eye she doesn’t quite understand.

  “’Ah could never take Lori’s place” But she feels a little pang of _something,_ thatshe doesn’t know how to place.

  Later that evening, Rick comes to her, arms ready, and Beth gives baby Judith to him; but Rick still holds her gaze with his pretty wide blue eyes; he puts his warm hand on Beth’s shoulder and says something she’ll never forget “We’re all family here, Beth. You may not be blood, but’you are Judith’s mother.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta say, not too happy about this chapter; I feel like it's maybe too small - even by other's chapters standards - and maybe it has too much clutter. Plus, this chapter here was kind of a hassle to get out; but I guess this happens everytime you take too long to write, or too long to edit - you do it because you're not satisfied with the result, but in the end you never will be.
> 
> By god, I love baby judith. And Judith means even more to Beth because, let's face it, she's not expecting to ever be able to have children in this world; so little Judy is most likely her only chance at something she's always wanted.
> 
> That statement by Rick, I have to difuse some likely confusion here: he's not saying Beth is a substitute for Lori, he's saying that, in the circumstances they live in, Beth's proven a love and care that makes her Judith's mother...in a figurative sense. I'm not sure if I get my point across, because i'm usually terrible at explaining things. I certainly struggled enough with getting this point across while writing.
> 
> If you have any doubts about this chapter, or if you liked, hated it, whatever,leave a comment or a PM and I'll do my best to answer it - but don't leave a comment I obviously need to answer to as a Guest, because one of you did and I have no other way to contact you than doing in in-chapter - and I really don't wanna do that.
> 
> Just one more thing: due to my work schedule, I won't be posting any new chapters on the weekend.


	5. Where We Stand

 

"Eugene lied. There is no cure"

They've all come together around the fire in their camp, eating what Carl's traps and Beth and Daryl's hunt got them, and when Rick says those words, there is a heavy silence around camp, and Beth has no idea why; she doesn't know who this Eugene is, and...a cure? There was a cure? But now there isn't? She's a bit confused, but Beth can't say she's surprised at learning someone lied to them about something this important.

The tall, red-haired man is picking on a rabbit leg, looking furiously at it; Rosita, beside him, just looks sad. But it's Glenn, sitting beside her, who surprises her; she can almost feel the hatred seething off of him.

"Ain' surprised" Daryl states, voice dragging, tired, resigned

"Can I say something?" Tara intervenes "Eugene may be a liar, but he's not stupid. He didn't want to go to Washington just so he could visit the Smithsonian. He told me there was an actual chance the city was protected. I don't think we should just count out going there because he lied."

"I agree with her. It's not a bad thing." Michonne adds.

"Do you even realize what ye're sayin?" Rick looks a little more than baffled at the group "What you're askin'? DC is 400 hundred miles away. We don't know what's out there, we don't know how rough the roads will be. We got barely a tank of gas, some of us are in a rough shape, and we got a lot of mouths to feed. I'm askin' you to think this through."

"You think we didn't have time to think this through?" Michonne spits back, a sudden rage rising up within her "We had a full day to think. What are we doin' here, Rick? We're in the middle of a forest, no idea what to do next. If we go out there, we might have a chance of livin' instead of just surviving!"

"I ain' saying we should stop looking for something to live for. But we've seen enough. We've been through enough, we all know the risks we've taken. Do we wanna keep taking risks, losing people, on the off-chance something good migh' happen? We can look for a new home, here. We don't need to go out there, risk our lives all over again."

"Can I...say somethin'?" Beth intervenes, and she finds no one had thought she would, by the looks she's given. She straightens up her back to speak, new-found courage in her mind and her words "Ah' think goin' to Washington is just what we need. We need to leave Atlanta, Rick. Start fresh. Like you said, we've been through a lot here, and maybe that's just the reason to leave it behind. Even if, at the end of the line, there's nothing different than here waiting for us, we'll get a chance to forget what we've seen...what we've had to do..." It's at that final line that her voice drops to almost a whisper, and she looks down at Judith, still happy, playing in her lap. Still pure.

The group picks up discussion after her input, but she doesn't have the mind to listen to it anymore. In a fraction of a second, she looks up and locks gazes with Daryl, looking intently at her from the other side of the camp. And she's sure that when she looks back down, and all throughout the rest of the debate, he's still looking at her.

In the end, when they vote whether to go to Washington or not, everyone raises their hand on the _yes_.

* * *

The tall man, Abraham - Beth's finally learned his name - is up on top of the fire-truck, apparently making sure everything's set to go. He has a different air to him than when Beth first saw him - then, he looked down, shoulders dropped, his back a little bent forward with disregard. Now - now, he's a changed man, poised, and, by his stance, he was clearly from the military. Maybe that's what's changed; army men respond to missions and goals, it's almost in their blood. Maybe having a goal is what's woken him up.

Glenn is by the truck, toolbox on the ground next to his feet, and he looks conflicted and tense. Beth remembers that moment at the meeting, when they mentioned that Eugene guy, so she approaches him. Glenn looks up at her and smiles, and she hates to ruin that smile, but she needs to know.

"Who's Eugene?"

Glenn's demeanor changes. He's pacing a bit as he reaches into the back door and practically slams it open, making Beth flinch involuntarily.

"That's Eugene." Glenn states, venom seething off his words like a snake.

On the other side of the door, inside the truck, is a big man with a mullet, seemingly asleep, with a face so bruised it makes Beth cringe a bit.

"Why did he lie about the cure?"

"Self-preservation" Glenn sighs "He's no good on his own. Doesn't know how to fight off walkers, so he made something up so we'd protect him. A lot of people died for him, Rosita named them all off."

Beth looks back at Eugene. He looks somewhat...like a child. Vulnerable. Pitiful.

Her gaze turns to steel and so does her demeanor. And maybe it's wrong to think this way, but she sees it for what it is.

"Use everythin' you can use."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beth changed at the end of "Slabtown". We'll see more of that in the following chapters.
> 
> Finally updating, thank god! Though it's gonna get pretty hard to in two weeks - I'm pulling full-time shifts at my workplace for the holidays, so I'll have like, two days a week to write. But I'll get to it, don't worry.
> 
> Tell me what you thought about the chapter, and what you think was going through Beth's mind at the end. I'll love to hear your assumptions and your theories.


	6. We Change...

  The plan is to split up the group into two: the ones who can’t walk yet, like Noah, Carol and Eugene, go ahead with Abraham, Rosita and Michonne in the fire truck to a nearby town, so that they can scout it out before the rest of the group gets there on foot. Less people in the truck means less gas spent.

  The walk to town feels a bit like old times, like the winter before Judith was born. But there’s an inherently different feeling in the air; a sense of mission, of companionship and closeness, that was missing in those cold, hard months.

  As they walk ahead through the dirt road, Judith a familiar weight in her arms, Beth tries to make out what intrigues her about Father Gabriel. She’d supposed he’d go ahead in the truck too since he’s limping, but here he is, walking alongside them, clearly uncomfortable and trying to put as little weight as he can on his injured ankle.

  She could think it was an act of good faith, of altruism, to give up a good and safe spot to other people; he is a priest, after all - it’s in his belief to give up commodities so other people can feel better. But Beth finds maybe she doesn’t believe in that kind of altruism anymore.

  She looks down to the ground. Maybe there really aren’t good people left. Or maybe it’s just her who’s not good anymore.

  She feels a presence beside her, a warm feeling, and looks to her right to see Daryl’s familiar leather jacket. It feels so comfortable, so good, having him beside her...but she doesn’t really deserve it, does she?

  She doesn’t do anything to acknowledge he’s there; she just keeps walking ahead, holding onto baby Judy, and hopes it won’t be long in this silence until they reach the town.

* * *

 It’s nightfall when they reach the small town - it really is small, with only a handful of cars and a few houses separated by the very occasional store. But Michonne and Abraham were able to clear a small two-story brick house, and they can spend a few nights there - Good thing too, because Abraham tells Rick the truck was running on empty by the time they got there, so they’ll need a few days to scope out vehicles in nearby places.

  Rick has Judith now - as Beth’s noticed that in the peace and quiet of the night, he’s prone to - so Beth sets up a strange kind of makeshift nursery in the living room and finds something to do in checking Carol for any residual internal injuries.

  Michonne found a first-aid kit under the sink in the bathroom upstairs so she uses it next to tighten up Noah’s ankle, and as she does, it feels eerily familiar to that time in the funeral house, and she smiles at the memory.

  “What are you so happy about?” Noah inquires, and Beth looks up at him, using muscle memory to tighten the wrappings around his ankle.

  “Just rememberin’ somethin’.”

  Noah’s big eyes look at her intently “Something from before...or from _before_?”

  Beth’s eyes lock with his. She hadn’t realized maybe Noah feels it too, the shift, the _change_ that hospital forces upon people.

  “Just somethin’ good, is all. Ankle too tight?” Noah shakes his head and Beth braces her hands on her knees to push herself up.

  “Y’know, I don’t think I got to thank you yet for bailing me out...twice.” Noah is a bit hesitant, body pulled a bit inward, almost like he’s...shy.

  “Y’don’t need to thank me. You helped me too. And...you were willing to go back there so my family could get out safe. You really don’t need to thank me. Ya did more than enough.”

  “Beth” he starts, and his voice drops “I would’ve gone back for you. I would...”

  Beth shakes her head and smiles softly “Ah’ didn’t want you to. Not after all the trouble to help you out.”

  It hurts her; for him to think he _owed_ her something. If he’d carried it out, he would still be at the hospital, warding for Dawn, out of her reach... Beth closes her eyes, trying as she might to forget it.

  When she opens her eyes again she spots Father Gabriel, looking around, not sure what to do with himself. And then she feels a heavy hand on her shoulder and flinches away from it until she sees it’s Abraham, who maybe looks a little guarded at her reaction.

  “You’re Beth, right?” She nods “You know anythin’ about medicine?”

  “Ah know enough.”

  “Well, maybe you can help me out somethin’ with Eugene over there.” He points to the downstairs bedroom where they’ve set Eugene up.

  She nods and follows him inside the bedroom - the man has his eyes closed and his head propped up in a bunch of dirty pillows. The swelling on his face she saw earlier on in the day seems to have only gotten more protuberant and purple. He doesn’t not look good at all.

  “What exactly do I have t’do? What happened to him?”

  “Hit his ugly mug on the concrete.” She raises a brow where she stands looking over Eugene, but she guesses Abraham doesn’t miss it “Well, I hit ‘is ugly mug, then he hit the floor...It’s a long story, miss.” He shifts from one foot to another, arms crossed over his chest, eyes to the ground.

  Beth pauses and looks at Abraham; really looks: she supposes he and this Eugene fella have been together for some time, but even knowing what he did, what he _lied_ about, she doesn’t see why he went this violent on the man. But she sees there is mountains more to their story.

  She looks back to Eugene, tries to remember what she’s learned from her Daddy, from Dr. S. She needs to check for signs of a concussion, and any kind of response that might mean he has a brain injury. She rests a hand to his face and Eugene picks up, eyes fluttering open, and leans against Beth’s palm. He looks lost for a moment, until his eyes come to rest on her face.

  “Hi there. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Mah’ name is Eugene Michael Porter, M’am.”

  “Alright, Eugene. Can you move your arms for me?”

  “He can move. That’s not a problem.” Abraham intervenes.

  “I most certainly can, Miss.” He moves his right arm and hand and fingers, and then moves the left “May I ask why you are performing a physical exam on me?”

  “Eugene, I heard you hit your head pretty hard. Do you remember how it happened?”

  Eugene’s eyes glaze over as he tries to go back to that moment. “I cannot say I recall any instance when I may have hit mah’ head, Miss. But my face feels like the proverbial sack of potatoes, so I suppose you’re not lyin’. What is your name and rank in medicine?”

  “I’m not a doctor. I’m just helpin’ out. And my name is Beth.” She steps away from the bed and turns to Abraham. “Everythin’ seems fine with him...but is he always this...clinical?”

  “That is my preferred method of communication, Miss Beth.” Eugene interrupts, sinking further into the bed, wincing a little as he does so “I have found using slang other than the most natural form of English is an easy pathway towards misunderstanding between two people having a discussion.”

  Abraham seems to have picked up the mood a bit, even cracking a little smile behind his moustache “Yes, he is always a little shit like this.”

  The mood around the room has lightened up considerably; Beth is glad for that. She steps towards Abraham “He seems fine. He can move and focus, and he doesn’t seem confused, no slurred speech. He got lucky.” She says, looking up at him intently.

  Abraham turns his gaze towards the bed, and then downward again “Yeh he did.”

  “He’s already been asleep for hours and he seems fine, so he might not have a concussion. But someone should still keep an eye on him, check for any signs of brain injury.”

  “I’ll be with ‘im.” Abraham says, not a hint of doubt in his words. “Thank you, miss.” He draws a kind smile down at her, and she can’t help smile back.

  “I’m Beth Greene. You don’t need to call me miss.”

  She chooses that time to take her leave, but not without taking another look at Eugene, laying in that bed. She’s surprised with how much her view of him seems to have changed since earlier in the morning. She’d held a sort of spite towards him, mainly because he’d reminded her so much of Dr. Edwards and what he’d done, what he’d had her do. But now, she can only see him as _human_.

  In a flash that doesn’t seem to ever end, she remembers Edwards again, the vial he made her mistake for a cure; Dawn and the elevator shaft and O’Donnell and Gorman’s body falling to the floor...

  What she feels leaves a pang in her chest, lifts up a storm within her, and she feels suffocated inside this bedroom, inside this house, and moves outside in a flash. She leans against the brick wall, breathing erratic, and try as she might to get the images out of her head, she just keeps reliving them, every moment of hell in that God forsaken hospital.

  Her skin has turned to goose bumps all over and her hands shake violently as she brings them to her face, closes her eyes, shields them from view with her palms, anything to get the images out of her head, the heavy feeling out of her chest.

  In the distance, she hears a voice saying her name, but it feels so far away she doesn’t respond to it. Then she feels warmth run through her upper body as arms encircle her and drag her away from the wall, into someone’s body.

  “It’s alright, Bethy. Calm down, focus on ye’r breathin’. No one’s gonna hurt’you, I promise. I’m here. I’m here.”

  For a few minutes, all she knows is Maggie whispering soothing words into her hair, stroking it with one hand, the other rubbing circles on her back. After a while, her trembling begins to subside, and so does her breathing. When Maggie releases her from her hold, she looks up into her sister’s pretty eyes, so full of concern. And Beth doesn’t think she’s ever felt as guilty as she does now, knowing she’s put that look there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter! So glad I finally got to write something that was long enough yet still confortable.
> 
> A little trivia: Eugene's canon middle name isn't Michael. In fact, he doesn't have one. Michael is Josh McDermitt's middle name. Plus, as I did some research, Josh has Portuguese blood. Sweet!
> 
> I realize I haven't put much Bethyl in this fic at all. There's a simple reason for that; Beth has been away from them, she has demons she needs to battle with, and any sane person should focus on getting better before getting ass. Plus, it's a really slow burn for Bethyl here. PLUS plus, I could have included Daryl at the end instead of Maggie, but that just wouldn't feel right would it? Maggie is Beth's sister - why would she not go to her just so the love interest could have the spot-light? I do hope it's noticeable, though, that Daryl still takes notice of things in the background. And Daryl has a life, too. Neither one of them would focus too much of their time on one another when they have an entire group with them. I know it feels nice to read a fic like that - I love them too - but that's just not the kind of thing that would come out naturally for me.
> 
> Tell me your thoughts about the chapter, what you liked, what you hated, whatever you want x)


	7. But We Have To Stay The Same

“I’m okay. Really, I am. It just got hard to breathe all of a sudden.”

Maggie frowns at her, worry and disbelief seeping through her eyes “Y’really think I’m buyin’ that? Bethy, what was that about? It looked like a panic attack.”

Beth feels the back of Maggie’s hand sweeping a stray strand off her forehead. Maggie’s leaning down on the floor, one arm propped up against the concrete, the other stroking Beth’s cheek. They’re so rare now, with the way they live, these moments of sweet tenderness from her older sister.

In the back of her mind, Beth thinks Maggie will be a wonderful mother.

The moment is ruined, though, as Beth recalls a time similar to this, when the thought of dying was more appealing than living. When Maggie _needed_ to comfort her, and Beth proposed something to her that now feels much like a sin.

So she straightens her back, away from the brick wall, leaning away from her weakness “I’m fine Maggie. I just had trouble breathin’for a while, but everythin’s fine now.”

Maggie’s frown deepens, but she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she gets up, giving Beth room to get up as well. But Maggie is still looking at her with the same frown on her face, but her eyes look off. Sad. “Look, ah’ get why you wouldn’ want to talk to me...after what happened. But I wanna make things right, and I wanna help you if you need...

Beth looks intently into her sister’s eyes, her own big and wide, hoping to commit some peace to her sister “Maggie, really. Ah’m okay. And you know I would tell you if I wasn’t, I always tell you everythin’.”

Maggie looks doubtful for a moment, but then they both notice they have quite an audience waiting on an explanation for Beth’s sudden behavior. Beth notes most of them look worried, but what hurts the most is that some look...sad. They’re all looking at her and they’re all sad and it...kills her. That they’re directing that kind of look at her.

She manages to find Daryl in the dark, and his eyes lock on hers but his don’t show pity...she thinks he might look a bit angry.

Beth feels Maggie squeeze her hand for a moment before letting go and pressing her hand to the small of Beth’s back in guidance. Maggie wants to get back inside, but Beth’s unconscious path leads her toward Rick, who is holding Judith in his arms. She gives him a look as a silent plea and he gives her Judith without question.

* * *

She doesn’t say a thing the rest of the night. Just sits with Judith in the living room, in silence, until she can’t handle the careful side looks she feels thrown her way. She ventures upstairs with the baby in her arms, down a hallway with various doors, but it’s the one in the far end that attracts her attention. With one arm balancing Judith on her hip, she opens the door to find a small, dusty bedroom, illuminated by the moonlight that comes in from the open window, complete with light rose wallpaper, and a little bed with yellow coverings. The room is well-kept, except for some toys on the floor, scattered, like they’d been left there in a hurry.

Beth picks one up; a little plush dog, one that reminds her of a hound they used to own at the farm when she was little. Judith comes to life once she notices the toy, and starts squirming in Beth’s arms, little hands grabbing at the air, eager to touch it.

“You like that, huh? I guess you haven’t had somethin’ to play with in a while.” She gives the dog to Judith, who immediately starts pulling at the little thing’s ears, making Beth crack a smile.

She sits on the bed and her eyes once again take in the room; it reminds her a little of her own room back at the farm, and she realizes with a pang that she hasn’t set foot in it for almost two years. She feels uncomfortable in this room, sitting in this bed, all things looking so young and pure, and, once again, that feeling crawls up to her, the feeling that she doesn’t belong. Not here, in this pure a place. Not after everything.

The creak of the old wooden floor gives away that someone is in the hallway; she turns around to the door to find Daryl standing there, looking uncomfortable, as he often does.

“Hey” he says.

She turns her body to him, suddenly worried. “Hey, is everythin’ alright? Do we need to leave?”

“Naw, it’s fine.” He answers, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. He shifts from one foot to another, looking awkward; torn between looking at her and looking at the floor.

Beth tilts her head, confused. “Daryl. You alrigh’?”

He looks up to her, startled, and seems to let out a breath; then goes over to the bed and sits in front of her, Judith in between, happy as can be with her new toy.

He moves his hand and grabs something out of his front pocket, and hands it to her. “Found this in the kitchen, when we was scoutin’ the house. Thought ya migh’ like it.”

She looks down at his hand to find a copy of the Holy Bible. Their fingers brush, just the slightest, when she takes it from him. It has a navy cover and a little black string inside to mark down the pages and the title is written with a simple silver touch. She notices the sides of the pages are a little dirty, but the outside of the book is completely clean - she supposes Daryl took his time to dust it off.

Daryl doesn’t say it, but she knows what it means; she’s sure that, the moment he saw it, he thought of her daddy. It makes her sad to think of it; but at the same time, knowing that his thoughts were of her too at the moment, she can’t be sad, only grateful.

She looks up at him to see his eyes are already intent on her. He’s holding so much feeling in them, things she doesn’t know how to name, and she realizes how bad she’d treated him the day before, ignoring him in favor of her own troubles; yet, here he is, giving her a gift, without asking for an apology in return.

She takes hold of his hand that’s now resting against the dusty yellow covers. He twitches a bit but doesn’t let go. His hand is big and warm and rough whereas hers is small and cool and bony. But, in that moment, with all the differences, they somehow fit.

“Thank you, Daryl.” She says, looking into his eyes as she does, a grateful smile on her face. His are still fixed on hers, and she gets the feeling he’s trying to see through her, into her soul. “You got stuff goin’ on, you can tell me. Or anyone. Just don’t keep that shit to ‘yerself. Ain’ worth you drowning in it.”

He’s right, so right. She has so much to say. But she just...doesn’t know how to begin working through it. She looks down at the Bible, and thinks about Sundays, about church, and how peaceful she felt attending with all her family there. How she didn’t keep secrets then.

They stay like that for a few more moments before she feels Daryl squeeze her hand once, and then moving to let go, lingering just a moment longer. Then he gets up and moves a little away from her, but he still hasn’t taken his eyes off of her.

She looks up at him. She wishes she could tell him everything, just open up to him and let everything out and feel relieved, but something tells her it would only make it worse.“ I’ll tell you...someday, I will. Promise.”

He nods once and moves to the door, then he stops and looks over at her again. “Just remember. Ain’ worth drowning.”

* * *

 She ends up going back down again, when Judith starts her hungry wailing. After feeding her, Carl takes her from Beth so she can eat. And as she’s eating, she keeps looking over to Father Gabriel, but this time, she’s not trying to figure him out. When she finally comes to a decision, she makes her way over to the priest. He’s a ways away from the rest of the group, sitting in a stool by the kitchen counter, scraping at a can of food, yet stops immediately when she comes next to him, and looks up at her, nervous.

“Can we talk?” She asks.

He nods several times, head shaking like it always does, and puts down his can. This is not where she wants to have this conversation, though, so she moves down the dining area, ignoring people’s looks, and into a separate room. He walks in and just as she closes the door after him the words slip out of her as if they were always meant to. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

She looks him in the eye and sees he’s been caught completely off guard by her words; but then, she sees the change in his demeanor - how he holds himself straighter, how he drops those nervous habits, and how his shock turns into a serious, yet kind expression. He turns around in the room, looking for something, until he finds a floor mirror. He drags it into the middle of the room and sits on one side of it, the mirrored side facing him. She lets out a breath and sits on the other side of the mirror, and it acts like a barrier between them, some make-shift confessional where there is no House of God to do this. She’s thankful that Father Gabriel chose to turn the mirrored side away from her; she doesn’t think she could handle looking at her reflection as she pours herself out.

“What is troubling you, child?”

Beth looks down at the carpeted floor, dusty with time, and lets out another breath.”I’ve done horrible things, Father. Terrible things.

She doesn’t talk for a while, wanting to gather her thoughts, to gather courage. It’s easier, though, being here with a stranger, not having to look him in the eye, just barely feeling his presence - makes it easier to say things when she doesn’t have to wait for the judgment to settle in.

“I’ve always had faith” She begins, “my Daddy was a man of faith and he taught me the way of God. He taught me to have mercy and to respect all life. He taught me that killing ain’ right, no matter what. He said that was the word of the Lord.”

“But...he didn’t teach me about dead people coming back t’life. He didn’t know if that was a part of God’s teachings. He never accounted for the world to turn itself upside down. He didn’t account for the fact that things migh’ have to change. That people migh’ have to change.”

She hears Father Gabriel shift beside her, the only sign he is listening. “I thought I could keep ma’ faith in a world like this, that ah’ could keep believin’ in kindness and goodness and purity. But I...I killed. Not walkers, but real people. I even knew their names. Gorman...O’Donnel. They weren’ good people, but they were still people. And I took their lives when the only one with the right to do it is God. Ah’ though I was good. But can I be good anymore if I’ve done somethin’ like this?”

“You said they were bad people. Why did you kill them?”

“To stay alive.”

“Do you regret what you have done?”

“Of course I do...I haven’ stopped thinking about it, ah’ can’t...I feel tainted.”

“Sometimes...God acts his will through us. That’s what I believe.

“You think...do we get to go back from it? From our sins?”

Beth hears Father Gabriel let out a deep breath. He’s quiet for a few long moments. Then, she hears him shift again. “We all have done terrible things in this world. And change is a constant thing. We all must change. But we must also stay true to who we are in our roots. We must adapt to what this world throws at us, but in a way that we remain faithful to who we are, and what we believe. What I mean is, there is no reason for you to lose your faith; nor is there a reason for you to live with this feeling forever. The only way to cleanse yourself is to accept the truth, accept your demons, and embrace them, but never let them take hold of you. For there to be darkness, there must also be light.”

* * *

 After her conversation with Father Gabriel, she once again joins the group in the living room. Some of them still give her looks when they see them walk out together, but do no further. She chooses to sit next to Carl, who is trying to get words out of his baby sister, and something happens. She begins humming a tune, then whispering, then gradually, she sings it. It has only really been two or three weeks since the funeral home and singing and playing the piano in the candlelight, but she feels like it’s been ages.

 

Oh I wish I was a doctor who could heal your broken heart

Analyze each bruise and hear your story from the start

And stitch up every tie nigh tear

 

With a ribbon and a bow

Just grab you some new medicine

That makes you feel less alone

 

No I am not a doctor

Just an ordinary girl

And all the way your chest aches

The way your head swirls

 

No I am not a doctor

But I've got some extra time

I've got some drugs

I keep in the stock called vodka and red wine

 

We both know that you’re not gonna sleep tonight

 

As she sings, she can feel the energy shift around her; how every member of the group reposition themselves - Maggie sitting at her side, hand steady on her shoulder, Glenn right beside her. Everyone else just joins in a kind of circle, listening to her. And she doesn’t miss the way Daryl stands on the other side, right in front of her;doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker with the light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus Christ, I have not updated in two freaking months! And that's really not good right now because, after last night's episode, this fanfic feels incredibly outdated. I feel like we got closure from Beth's death, so that makes it harder to write this - I'll keep doing it though, I really don't want to leave this unfinished.


	8. Hardwired

 They found vehicles. Some canned food, a little bit of gas. Enough, Eugene had figured, to get them to only a few day’s walking distance from DC.

 On the road, Beth had noticed a sign marking their entry into South Carolina. From her place in the backseat, she’s reached forward and placed her hand on Daryl’s shoulder. He hadn’t made a move to reciprocate, but as he noticed what she’d meant, he’d looked at her through the rearview mirror, and though his face was scruffy with unmade beard and grime, the look he’d given her was a soft one, full of intent.

* * *

 

 Noah had come to Beth one night, reminiscing on his lost wish to return to his community, and Beth had seen it as a quiet request for help. _I don’t wanna take you all out of your way_ , he’d said. Nonsense, she’d thought. She’d gone to Rick herself, convinced him that it couldn’t hurt to try, and he’d agreed, went with Noah himself, with Michonne and Tyreese. She’d noticed Daryl getting fidgety when she’d announced she’d be going as well; though, she couldn’t see the surprise in it. There was no way she wouldn’t have been by Noah’s side.

 But all the while, something just hadn’t felt right. She couldn’t shake the feeling off: like she wasn’t supposed to be there.

 Maybe none of them were supposed to be there. Maybe Noah’s reluctance had been for something.

 She couldn’t simply believe that Tyreese had been meant to die.

 A heavy weight had to be carried after that. She’s sure everyone on the team kept telling themselves that what happened was inevitable, even as they carried the burden of guilt on their shoulders from waking hours, to their last conscious breath at night. She realized, with time, just how important Tyreese had been for them; Maggie had told her he’d taken care of Judith like she was his own, that he’d been with Lizzie and Mika before that.

 Beth hadn’t been able to find any of the kids. But on some stroke of luck or fate or God, he’d found them and cared for them when she couldn’t. She’d never be able to repay that debt now.

* * *

 

 After, they walked through roads that seemed to stretch for miles too long to be real. They walked through their grief and through their thirst. They’d been running short on supplies even before Richmond; now, trekking through the heat, it only wasn’t any worse because Sasha had all but stopped eating. Maggie had been at her side the whole time, knowing just how much she’d been needed, but just as she wouldn’t eat, Sasha wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t listen. She might as well have been a walker, like the rest of them.

 _No_ , she’d thought. _Never like them, we are not like them, we get a choice_. She’d drilled those words into her own mind, but she knew she wasn’t the only one in their group thinking that way.

 And then, one day, it rained. All of a sudden, the air felt humid, the road slippery, and all their breaths mingled in puffs in the air as cold water trailed down upon them. They’d been so close to the edge of the precipice, so desperate, and something, _something_ , had bestowed this onto them. It felt nothing short of a miracle.

 In the rush of excitement, she’d reached out with her hand and grasped the elbow of his jacket. He’d seemed hesitant at first, and he slid his arm away, but then she’d felt the slight pressure of his hand grasping hers, gentle at first, and then firm as their fingers fully intertwined.

* * *

 She’s not sure whether to feel relief or suspicion. Fear or hope. All she knows is that the pictures in Rick’s hand look _real_. But in a twisted sort of way.

 They don’t look fabricated. But they don’t look completely honest, either.

 But it’s a chance that they agree to take. They don’t talk about what they’ll do if it turns out to be a trap; if Alexandria turns into just another Woodbury, another Grady. But Beth knows Rick I always on guard, always attentive; but more than that, he seems feral, like a wildcat just waiting to pounce.

 The walls are sturdy, she notices. So much better than the Prison’s fences, but smaller. To the outside, Alexandria does look like a prison; but they can hear children’s laughs coming from inside the walls, and that sound is so _old_ , like something out of a dream.

 Then they open the gates, and the sound finally feels there, like it belongs.

 She’s the only one who doesn’t have a gun to relent at the checkpoint. Beth still doesn’t like guns. She doesn’t like swords, either. But she keeps her knife hidden inside of her boot.

 Then they are interviewed. Off all, things, an interview is what she least would expect to be subjected to.

She marvels at the houses. How big, white, _pristine_ they all look. On what she presumes is Deanna’s living room, are multiple shelves with dictionaries of technical terms, various historical books, and a cover that reads “Man’s Search for Meaning” by one Viktor Frankl, that looks more worn out than the others.

“If everything works out, you can borrow some of those books, if you like.” She hears the woman say, pointing at the armchair in front of her. The couch doesn’t look to be too big, but it presses strangely on her hipbones and she _feels_ small against the fabric, and notes just how thin she’s become.

Deanna sets up a camera directed at Beth and sits down on the couch in front of her, and looks at Beth with a small smile on a face that looks incredibly hopeful. “You’re Beth, aren’t you? Do you have a last name?”

“Beth Greene.”

“Oh, so you’re related to Maggie?”

“She’s my sister.”

“Is there any more family here with you?”

“Just me and her.” Beth’s hand rubs the tear at the fabric of her jeans. It’s a getting a little harder to breathe. Deanna seems to acknowledge that something is different and doesn’t press the subject any longer.

“Though,” the woman starts “I suppose anyone out there is your family now. You seem very young. Did you work before the outbreak?”

“I was just at school. Helped out my daddy at our farm. Babysat for a couple people.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself, those are some very good things. I’m getting the feeling that you’re a very peaceful person. Much like your friend, Carol. It’s incredible how something like this can such different people together. And how you can remain like this after all I imagine you’ve seen…”

“Remain like what?” Beth interrupts. She knows what the woman is referring to; to remain soft, downy. But Beth doesn’t want any of those things to describe her. She wants to be seen with a skin of steel.

“The world outside these was can make you feral, rough. You don’t talk much, but you don’t seem to have turned out like that.”

“You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’re right. I don’t know you. And maybe what I’m doing is intrusive, but I guess we’ll have the time to see whether my judgement is right or not. I like you, Beth. I think you have a good soul, and that you’ll fit right into our community.” Deanna pauses for a few moments, leans forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. “Now I’d like to know what your expectations are, coming here.”

Part of Beth, the part that is a farmer’s dotting daughter and a good little girl, wants to please. Wants to say something that’ll make Deanna think she’s a terrific addition and a good person. She really wants that. The other part of her can’t bring herself to not be honest.

“I just want my family to survive. I don’t know what else to say to you, other than I hope you’re decent people. I’m not like you. I’m not a very good judge of character. You seem nice enough, but I don’t know you. So I guess we’ll just see what’s gonna happen”.

 The older woman smiles that soft smile again, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, one that’s more understanding than nice. “I think you’ll be very pleasantly surprised with the people here. At least I hope so. And I still think you’re underestimating yourself. But I guess we _will_ see what’s going to happen moving forward.”

 She watches as the woman scribbles down something on the little notepad she has next to her on the couch. “Well, you seem old enough, so I have some idea about what I’ll want you to be doing in the community. I’m thinking about having you work at the school, but I hope you understand I’ll want to study how you interact with the people before I make my decision.”

“‘Course.” Beth answers quickly. She can’t lie and say she doesn’t feel a little bit excited about working with children again. It just means she’ll have more time to take care of Judith, too.

“In the meantime, feel free to look around, get to know people. If there’s anything around here that piques your interest, feel free to let me know, and I’ll try to arrange something.”

The older woman gets up and extends her hand towards Beth. She takes it as she stands, and is a little startled as Deanna places her other hand on top of their joined ones. “I expect good things from you, Beth. And I hope you’ll expect the same from me, too. I want us to be friends.”

There’s a strange feeling in Beth’s gut as she walks out of the woman’s house; something that isn’t particularly bad, but which she can’t identify clearly.

* * *

 

 The houses they’ve been assigned are beautiful and big, but that barely matters the first night, as they drag mattresses and blankets onto the living room. They turn on this one lamp, the only one weak enough not to startle their use of candlelight. Half of their group can’t lay still for more than thirty minutes at a time, wired as they are.

 Beth hasn’t felt this clean in _ages._ She took somewhat frequent showers at the prison, but hadn’t had the time nor patience to do it since the flu outbreak. Water was scarce and sorely needed, and she was too worried about Glenn and her Daddy and too busy taking care of the kids. Even at Grady they’d washed her hair, face and hands as she had been brought in, but she’d smelt too much of antiseptic masking blood to feel clean. But the upstairs bathroom had soap, _real_ soap, with a soft strawberry smell that was too tempting not to rub all over her hair, her body. She had taken her time, enjoying the hot water, scrubbing away the dirt and grime from weeks on the run, hoping to wash away her troubles, too.

 She’s opted to lay down on the floor next to Judith’s crib, where she feels more comfortable to try and get some sleep. It doesn’t necessarily hurt that the baby’s crib is placed in front of the window, right where Daryl is sitting, keeping a look out.

 Already she can sleep the heaviness of sleep weighing down on her, making her body soft and pliant against the blanket she has draped over her. The entire room is quiet around her; everyone else is likely already asleep, too. As she feels herself sleeping further away, she hears the softest thread of boots on the floor, moving next to her. She feels something warm hovering over her, and her blanket is adjusted over her shoulders, covering her to her neck.

Her dreams are warm and filled with the smell of smoke and leather, but in the quietness of her mind, the scents mingle into something wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no real excuse for my lack of updating other than my laziness. That and...Walking Dead has been hard on me, with all theorizing and hoping and agonizing. 
> 
> This chapter is basically setup - as were all the other ones, really - and a way to get back on the saddle - so, if it feels out of whack, let me know in the comments. I don't know where I'm going with this, I have no plot drawn out, but I guess I'll...get somewhere, eventually? We'll see what happens.
> 
> Let me know what you thought in the comments below. It feels so incredible to know that people truly like your work or see themselves in it.


	9. There's More To Feel

 

 The damn showers here are make his skin burn. The water comes in a rush strong enough to bruise, and it always seems to be too hot, no matter how many times he turns the faucet one way or another. He’d thought having a warm bath would make him feel good, but he quickly retracts and goes back to plain old cold shower. He’s too damn used to it anyway.

 He didn’t even want to shower. Water is precious and he doesn’t see the need in wasting it when he’s just going to get dirty again. But Beth had caught him downstairs looking at all the pristine, white shit.

 “Daryl, you stink.” She’d said, to which he’d simply shrugged his shoulders, not really caring about it either way. Beth’s nose had scrunched up in a frown that made him give her a smirk; which he dropped immediately when she pushed a towel into his chest and pulled at his jacket: “Go take a damn shower.”

 Did he really have anything to counter that? It was just a quick rinse, to get off the grime and sweat he’s accumulated over weeks.

 He lets himself gets lost for a bit, leans back against the wall, feeling the tiles cool and humid against his skin. He turns off the faucet and just closes his eyes, listens for what’s happening downstairs and outside.

 He remembers the few times he’d gone to the showers at the prison; how they were in a cell block apart from everyone’s rooms, and if he were alone in there – which he often was, since he’d only go late at night – he could hear nothing but his own breathing. But in this bathroom, he doesn’t get to feel alone. He can hear shoes crunching on wood, the shuffle of bags. And, outside, there’s the sounds of children talking and laughing, something that seems almost like a staple of this place.

 The door to the bathroom creaks open just as he’s ready to walk out the shower. He hesitates, “It’s just me, bowman. Got’you some clothes that don’t smell like a horse’ been wearing them.” Says Michonne.

 “Y’all care a lot about how I smell.” Daryl spits back, though not a hint of malice spills out his words.

 “We have to live with you, you idiot. Get dressed and get downstairs. We’re starving.”

 He grunts in answer and waits to hear Michonne walk out. Daryl looks into the foggy mirror and clears the glass to get a look at his face. One of these days, he notes, he’s going to have to cut his hair. It’s got to an almost unbearable length, always getting in his eyes. He remembers what it looked like three years ago, so blonde and short, when he and Merle found the Atlanta camp. He remembers how he’d almost robbed the very same people who he’d gone on to call his family.

 A lock of his hair flutters out to uncover a patch of scarred skin. He frowns at it instantly and rushes to close the door, before quickly covering his torso with the shirt Michonne left for him.

 

* * *

 

 It seems like some sort of wild dream watching Carol and Beth bake together.

 It’s been four days since they’ve been in Alexandria. Deanna told him she’s still trying to figure him out, but if she can’t, she’ll get him to guard the walls along with Sasha. It’s only been four damn days and he’s already itching to be outside, and he’s been prancing around like a caged animal. Had been, until Carol had asked him to help her and Beth in the kitchen.

 Carol is annoying the hell out of him. She’s been playing this game of pretend ever since they got here, pretending to be this fragile little thing, dressing in flowery shirts and cardigans, things that really are stupid to wear, since he can clearly see the way the fabric restricts her movements as she opens and closes the upper cabinets. To everyone else, she looks the part of a good southern housewife; back in their home, out of unwelcome sight, she’s all Carol again.

 Beth is…something else. She looks so content, mixing cookie batter with a spoon that is two sizes too big for her hand, letting the dough drip into the molds. Daryl watches the way her blue eyes reflect the sunlight that streams through the window; how she runs her fingers through the dough and licks them off when she thinks neither him not Carol are looking. How she looks at him with a smile in her eyes when she catches him watching her do it, her smooth lips still around one small finger.

 It really shouldn’t, it’s _wrong,_ but the sight of that makes his insides burn in a wonderful way. Immediately, he feels disgusted with himself. What the fuck is wrong with him?

 He jumps up from the chair he’s been sitting on and bolts from the kitchen as quickly as he can, hearing halfhearted protests behind him. Before he can reach the doorknob and go outside, he feels a hand grab the sleeve of his jacket with hesitant force. Daryl turns around slowly, just enough for acknowledge Beth’s presence, still half-facing the door and doing his best not to look her in the eyes because _how can he,_ when only watching her makes him feel things he shouldn´t?

 “Where are you going?” She asks, and he can hear the doubt slipping from her words. She wants him to stay, he knows that. And her hand on his arm is a wonderfully warm pressure, so secure in its hold…

 “Gotta run. Gonna get sum’air.”

 “Ah’ can go with you.”

_Leave me the hell alone,_ he would have said before. But he’s better now, doesn’t want to treat her like that, like she’s a bother. Won’t make her get that look on her face, like she’s sad, like he’s hurt her.

 Instead, he simply shakes his head. “Don’t gotta. I’ll be by the woods some. You an’ Carol should finish up.”

 Beth gives him this smirk of disbelief, like he’s just spouted the words of a lunatic. “Who woulda thought, that I’d be makin’ cookies.”

 The pressure to his arm fades as she loosens her hold, but still doesn’t let go.

 “I’ll save you some cookies if you get me a flower.” she whispers, smiling with lips and eyes.

 He grunts in response and turns around to open the door, and he realizes he’s forgotten why he wanted to go out in the first place.

 “Just don’t pluck the ones from our neighbor’s lawn. Mrs. Grant will kill you!” He hears Carol shout from the kitchen. He swears the damn woman has the ears of a cat.

* * *

 

 While he’s out, he finally has time to think. As he watches the grass move subtly with the wind, he remembers a girl from middle school. Patty, with black curly hair and brown eyes, tan and the thing every boy ever saw in classes. He remembered being fifteen and looking at her legs and feeling all kinds of things he didn’t like. Those things had made him feel out of control, and he couldn’t understand them until Merle got out of juvie and they talked about it over some beers. Merle had been disgusting, saying things like _thank god, brother, you ain’ no willy pussy after all_ and _should go get ya some o’that, girls like her, they pretend they don’ like us, but they sure enjoy a good screw._

 Even then those words had felt wrong; he knew how his brother treated women, and he vowed to himself he would never be like that. So he tried his best not to see another girl like that.

 Yet, here he is, just as out of control as he’d felt back then. And for all the women he could feel hot for, it had to be Beth. Sweet Beth, with her wonderful voice and small, porcelain hands who is just pure and perfect. She deserves the world and to be with a decent boy or man or whatever the hell makes her happy and doesn’t scar her. She’s the one good, pure thing he has going, and she’s his friend, and has helped him a lot, _saved his life_.

 He really doesn’t see any reason he shouldn’t be feeling this way.

 He can’t make himself quit remembering the way the candlelight played off her silky hair, how she so expectantly look at him, tried to figure out what he was thinking.

 He finds himself missing that, wanting to be back at the funeral home with her _, just him and Beth_ , when things like touching and talking and smiling came easy and natural for him, like they never had before in his life.

 Where he could just be _him_ , and Beth would be her, and they would form a contented family with just the two of them. He wants to feel that ease again, without the worry of something more profound and dangerous looming over every gaze, every graze of white skin against his body.

 He wants her, he knows. Wants to do things he shouldn’t be thinking about. But he also wants to hold her waist, to hear her laugh, to keep her safe. That is not what he had felt for Patty. There’s something peaceful about how he feels around Beth, how she can melt his walls under her sky blue eyes, how her arms are so small but radiate so much warmth. How, even after he’d let her down, she came back to him with all of herself ready to embrace him.

 His lips curl up into a smile. No, he doesn’t hate feeling this way. He could get used to this; to coming home to someone. Even if she doesn’t feel the same way, because _why would she_ , he could be content to be around to see her live.

 He would turn the world to ash for this girl.

* * *

 

 He arranges the thimbleweeds on top of Beth’s bed, against her pillow. Space is scarse, and she’s sharing a room with Tara, but her soapy scent lingers in her bedsheets and he takes his time to breathe it in. The Bible he got for lays on her nightstand, makeshift marker in between the pages.

 He hears footsteps in the wood floor and turns around to find Beth already looking at him, standing in the doorway with an indecipherable look in her eyes.

 “Ya know, I wasn’ being serious about the flowers. I woulda gotten you cookies either way.” She says, playful smirk on her lips.

 He can only grunt as a response as she steps closer to him to examine the flowers. He watches attentively as she gently picks them up and examines them. He nose scrunches up a bit as the movement makes some pollen float.

 He’s caught gazing at her when she turns her attention to him. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.” She pauses, lays the flowers back in her bed, then produces from her back pocket a wrapped napkin and hands it to him. “The kids loved them, it was so hard to keep some aside. Abraham loved them too.” She adds with a smile. Of course the kids loved them. Anything that comes out of those hands must be magic.

 Beth surprises him by laying her palm against his jaw and, whether she meant to or not, he fingers reach into the sensitive skin of his neck, and he can’t help the goosebumps that rise up at the smallest of touches. He closes his eyes for a brief instant, overwhelmed by the warmth radiating off of her.

 “Remember how you told me I could talk to you if I needed?” he nods “Well, I want you t’know it goes both ways. If you every like bolting, that’s fine, and I won’t judge but…you can talk, too. If you wan’.”

 She looks into his eyes with such intent he wonders if she knows everything he’s been thinking of. Although, in truth, she always does this. Always knows the right things to say to him, at the right time. It amazes him, just how one look can mean so much.

 He recalls the words she’d said to him that day, says them back. “I’ll…tell ya. Someday.”

 He doesn’t dare promise it. But maybe, someday, he might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters just take what they want...Thank you so much for reading. I'm loving all the feedback from you guys, and it's an honor writing for you.


	10. Author's Note

I’m sitting in a dimly-lit room, laptop in front of me. I’m reading and re-reading my latest writings for this fanfic, but there is something amiss. The will to write it is gone.

I refuse to blame it on the tv show. Over the past two years, this story has evolved from a coping mechanism, to a sort of fantasy, and finally to a way to make my readers happy. Every like, every follow has filled my soul with joy, and given me strength to keep having ideas, to keep developing this. But, as time has moved on, and writing became scarse, so has my motivation.

I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about this story anymore – it is anything but that. Any creation of mine matters. But I have been feeling, more and more for the past few months, that my excitement has dwindled, to the point where writing these characters doesn’t make me feel much of anything. And I would rather leave this story on a short, but at-least-satisfying note, than drag it on without any feeling to it. So next chapter, chapter 10, will be my last. I’ll be working on wrapping things up and posting it online so you may part with my story, as I will.


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